Escaping the Past
by Maura16
Summary: Draco has been running from his past for three years. He never expected to find part of it dancing in a Muggle strip club in the South of France! (This is not yet romance, despite the genre. However, it may eventually be so.)


**This is by far the smuttiest fic I have ever written, and thus I have taken an extremely large step out of my comfort zone O_o**

**I need reviews, and constructive criticism, please! I enjoyed writing this, and I want to know if you enjoyed reading it, and if you didn't, how I could improve.**

**If you like it, I have a vague idea for continuing it :D**

_**Escaping the Past**_

After the war, after the horrors, after the terrible trial in which his father received the Dementors' Kiss and his mother received lifelong house arrest, Draco had left the United Kingdom.

He had left his mother, his friends, his home, his money, his legacy behind, and had built a new life for himself in France, a country he had always loved.  
Travelling with his pureblood parents he had only experienced the Wizarding parts, which had been amazing by themselves...

But Muggle France was amazing. The people, the customs, the markets... He'd been taught the language as a child, and he'd never been more grateful for a skill he'd been force-fed. It was a beautiful language, and he spoke it flawlessly.

He had worked hard to escape his past, and had made a successful business out of nothing. He was haunted by his own fair share of ghosts and demons and nightmares, but he had left the majority behind, expecting to never see them again.

The last place he would have ever imagined he would see Hermione Granger was on the stage at a seedy Muggle strip club in the South of France.

* * *

The girl moved like she was made of music, mused Draco as he watched her, sitting in a shadowy corner, nursing a drink. She was clad in a lacy bra, sheer panties and a very short skirt, apparently halfway through her act.

She had filled out since the last time Draco had seen her, he noted approvingly. She was still slim, but her curves were more pronounced, more womanly. She was not a girl any more. The climate here was good for her as well- she glowed with a deep, natural tan. Her hair fell in crazy curls around her heart-shaped face, but it worked somehow.

In fact, if she had been anyone but the little know-it-all who hated him, he would have attempted- and probably succeeded, as well- to charm her into his bed. As it was... He simply watched her, hoping to find something to find a fault in.

She was beautiful, he couldn't deny that. And the way she moved... It was simultaneously innocent and very, very sexy. She seemed to feel the beat, moving sinuously across the small stage as if it was a runway. She had style, he conceded, and she was sexier than some strippers were when they were naked. She _exuded_ sexiness. Draco wondered what on earth had happened, for the Gryffindor golden girl, the war hero, to be here, in this seedy club, taking her clothes off and dancing in front of strangers. How far the mighty had fallen...

But Granger didn't look down-trodden, or devastated or disgusted. Not at all. Her eyes were closed and her lips slightly parted, as she swayed her hips, running her hands over her body.

She undid the zip on her skirt and slid it down her legs, accompanied by raucous cheers from the crowd. She stood motionless for a moment, simply standing there, naked but for her bra and panties and seemingly completely unconcerned as men jeered and women cheered.

Then the music tempo increased, the beat picking up, and Hermione Granger started to dance. And it was incredible. She danced across the stage, full of energy and light, spinning around and shaking her hips. Her hair flew out around her head and her breasts bounced enticingly.

Draco took a gulp of his drink, feeling oddly flustered, eyes locked on the dancing girl. She stopped spinning suddenly as the music slowed, and looked up at the audience from under her eyelashes as if she was going to do something bad. The rowdy crowd hushed, watching her, oddly silently.

Hermione (Draco couldn't think of her as Granger when she was semi-naked on a stage before him- Granger was the annoying girl, not the beautiful woman) spun in a slow circle, undoing her bra and letting it fall to the ground, finishing her turn with her head tilted back, curls cascading down her back, perfect breasts thrust forward for everyone to see.

There was a moment of motionless appreciation, no sound in the room save for her panting breaths, moving her chest beautifully, and then the room broke out in catcalls and cheers.  
Hermione grinned, and laughed, and then started dancing again.

This time the music was low, sultry, sexy, and her dancing was different. She shimmeyed her hips and writhed about on stage, glancing at someone in the crowd every so often with fire in her eyes- a fire that hinted at things even greater than this.

Draco shifted awkwardly in his chair, suddenly very glad for the table concealing his crotch. He felt grudging respect for the brown-haired Muggle-born. It was rare that a stripper put him in this situation before she was even fully naked- he had iron control.

But Hermione wasn't finished. A golden pole slowly rose up from the stage and Draco almost moaned out loud, gulping frantically at his drink in a feeble attempt to cool down.  
Hermione walked- no, she _sashayed_ around the pole, not touching, just looking as the music soared. She reached out a hand, holding on tight and spinning gracefully around it. She held on with two hands, pulling herself up and wrapping her legs around the pole, anchoring herself. Draco couldn't help being slightly concerned about the stability of the structure. What if she fell?

And then Hermione leant back, holding on with her hands but tilting her body so she was almost perpendicular to the pole, her breasts exposed and her nipples standing to attention. And all worries Draco had had vanished. He stared at those perfect nipples, fighting a sudden urge to go over to her and suck on them. They were exceptionally suckable nipples... Then the pole began to turn, and Draco's entire world narrowed to the girl on the pole. She swung and lifted her body and twirled upside down and did other such mind-blowing things. Draco lost track of time as Hermione moved to the beat, with only the pole as her prop- and it seemed plenty sturdy, Draco was relieved to note.

Finally she resumed her initial position, legs wrapped around the pole, arms holding her up, back parallel to the ground, head tilted back, a light sheen of sweat covering her body from her exertions.

But this time, Draco noticed, she was grinding against the pole. She didn't seem consciously aware of it, but never-the-less, there it was. Her pussy must be pressed right against the pole in that position, and she was grinding against it, unconsciously seeking the friction it provided. Draco gaped in shock. Was Hermione Granger, paragon of virtue, teacher's pet, aroused by this? Turned on by the pleasure she was providing strangers?

Draco shook his head. No way. He must be imagining it. There was absolutely no way.  
Hermione peeled herself off the pole, smiling at the chorus of boos that accompanied this, walking slowly to the side of the stage and lifting up a chair which she placed in the centre of the stage. She sat down, legs together, hands folded primly in her lap.

And then she pushed her ass to the end of the chair and her legs fell apart, and if it weren't for the rigid Malfoy control that Draco still retained, he would have came right there and then.

Because Hermione Granger was wet. So wet, in fact, that her sheer panties were clinging to her dripping pussy, showing the curves of her lips to everyone.

Someone at the other side of the room moaned loudly, and Draco bit his lip hard to keep from echoing the sentiment. She looked so wanton, sitting there with her head tilted back, her luscious breasts and nipples on display, and her legs spread, panties soaked with her own juices.

She lifted her hands, running them through her hair, and then down to her chest. She squeezed at her breasts, pinching at her nipples, then across her stomach and down. One finger traced her pussy over her panties, and Draco groaned.

Hermione moaned, one hand still pulling at her nipple and the other teasing herself- and teasing everyone in the room. Draco felt ready to explode, and pressed down hard on the base of his throbbing cock. If he could just hold out til she finished...

Luckily for him, the show was winding to a close. The music slowed, and Hermione stood up, bowing deeply, her breasts swaying as she did so. Coins and notes were thrown on the stage, and she beamed and bent to pick them up, the movement pulling her panties up and exposing her perfect ass. Draco moaned as she straightened up, waving happily to everyone and blowing kisses, but from her posture it was clear that she was still hopelessly aroused, just like him.

The errant thought did nothing to help Draco's situation. Hermione turned on her heel and strutted of the stage to thunderous applause.

Draco swiftly downed his drink and slipped his wand from his pocket. There was no way to get rid of his erection, but he cast a discreet concealing charm and stood up awkwardly, his usual poise and grace gone. He strode to the door, flinging some coins in the tip box situated there, and walked off down the street.

The cold air was soothing against his flushed skin, but he kept moving, turning into an alleyway and Apparating directly home, where he shed his clothes and wanked himself raw, imagining Hermione with her fingers in her cunt and the other hand pulling on her pert breast, bringing herself to completion.

* * *

Later, clean and relaxed, sitting in front of the fire and sipping on an ice-cold vodka and coke- Muggle drinks were much better than wizards'- he thought about Hermione Granger, trying to fit the tantalising, sexy woman he had seen tonight with his last memory of her, three years ago, at Fred Weasley's funeral, severe and dressed in black robes, face taught and drawn with pain.

Admittedly, funerals did not bring out the best in people, but how on earth had she ended up here? He would have thought she was running away from her demons, hiding, even, but she had looked confident, collected, sure of herself in a way she never had at school. And she had enjoyed it, there was no denying that. It was a conundrum, no doubt about it, and Draco was determined to get to the bottom of it.

That night, Draco's dreams were filled with Hermione stripping, dancing, twirling round the pole, and he woke up hard, gasping, and desperate for release.

And he knew that he had to see her again.


End file.
